By Molly McMann
Growing up, I always had the urge to be naked but did not have a lot of opportunity given that I lived with my parents and three older siblings. But by the time I was a junior in high school, my brothers and my sister were all out of the house so it was just me and the parents. They both worked downtown and they rode in together in one car. At the earliest, they’d get home about six, but often it was later – and they always called to let me know exactly when to expect them.
So this meant I had 2-3 hours to be naked every afternoon, and although I had been sneaking naked moments ever since I was 14, now I was feeling completely relaxed knowing I would not be interrupted. I would come home from school, go up to my room to undress, and then come downstairs naked to do my homework at the dining room table. If the parents were running late, Mom would call with dinner instructions – get the water boiling for pasta or whatever. I imagined I was having a dinner party and people would be arriving any moment. I pictured myself opening the door naked and welcoming my clothed guests inside.
We had a privacy fence, lots of trees, and most of the neighboring houses were one-story ranches, so there was a nice chunk of backyard where I knew I could not be seen. All the houses in our subdivision had about an acre of land, but because our house was on a cul de sac, our yard was extra large and elongated in a wedge shape. Way, way, waaaayyyy in the back of our property we had a little garden shed. If I chose my path carefully, I could make it all the way back there and busy myself with little tasks.
By mid-October the air was chilly but I loved it. One of my chores was to rake leaves, and I was happy to do so – wearing only my sneakers and a ball cap on backwards. Even when all the leaves had fallen and winter set in, there were still certain portions of the back yard where I could stroll. I still remember the first time I was outside when giant flakes of snow were falling. It didn’t even feel cold, and the snowflakes collected in my hair but melted against my skin,
That year Christmas break was longer than normal and my siblings only came home for the week of Christmas, so I had entire days when I could be continuously naked. Three days a week I had a part-time job at the mall, but I didn’t have to go in until afternoon so I still had the mornings. As I got ready to leave, I would pretend that I was going to work naked – even going out to my car naked carrying my purse.
Our garage door faced the back of the property, so the driveway came around the house and there was a big paved area where you’d turn your car around to enter the garage, with room to park an extra car or two. On days that I worked I would exit the back door wearing only shoes and carrying my purse. I would lock the back door behind me and saunter casually to my little Honda and get in – loving always the shock of sensation as my bare butt made contact with the oh-so-cold vinyl seat. I would place my purse on the passenger seat, put on my seatbelt, and turn on the car.
I would begin to drive down our long driveway . . . but then I’d back up and enter the garage in the space left by whichever car my parents had taken that day. Imagining now that I was returning from a long day at work, I would exit my car, purse and keys in hand, and unlock the door leading from the garage to the kitchen.
As it happened, that year was more snowy than usual, and during Christmas Break it snowed enough that the driveway needed to be shoveled at least four or five times. My dad would trudge out early in the morning to clear the driveway before he and Mom went to work. However, he only shoveled the driveway itself and the parts of the turnaround area needed to back his and/or my Mom’s car out of the garage. My little car would still be buried in snow and he left it up to me to dig myself out.
But I liked that . . . because it extended my little fantasy. I would get the snow shovel from the garage and go out naked to dig out my car – meticulously working all around the car and not just the area needed to get into it. Eventually, I would open the driver’s side door, again experiencing the luscious pleasure of sitting on the cold vinyl and only then turn on the car to warm it up. Then, of course, I’d have to finish brushing off the windows, and on a couple days I had to scrape ice off the windshield.
When I finally got in my car and started driving, I usually never made it farther than to circle around our cul de sac and go back up the driveway to the garage. But sometimes I just could not resist and kept going. I felt a mixture of panic and desire as I drove through our subdivision, rounded my way back and entered our driveway again. I always promised myself I would NOT do that again because it was just too much of a risk. The windows of my car had no tinting so anyone who came close enough to even catch a glimpse of me would notice that my arms and shoulders were oddly bare in mid-winter.
One day it was bitter cold and as I puttered nervously through my neighborhood, I hit an icy spot and my rear wheels started spinning. Panicking, I made things worse by trying too hard, and also called attention to myself. In my rearview mirror, I saw to my horror a guy out jogging in his winter regalia and he was coming right up to me as I desperately tried to free myself.
Luckily for me, he did not come up to the driver window, but stopped at the back of the car and gave me a little push. Suddenly I was moving again and I beeped my horn in gratitude as he now jogged along behind me giving a comradely wave. But now I was near the main entrance to our subdivision and I could not just turn around, nor could I afford to wait too long at the stop sign because he was gaining on me. The cross street was clear and so I quickly turned right and sped away from our subdivision.
Although our subdivision was quietly tucked away behind a bit of woods, the entrance to it was on a very busy street, and so immediately I was at a big intersection with two lanes of traffic going both ways, and I scrunched down in my seat trying to avoid being seen. When the light changed I was in an even worse situation because I was headed towards the mall, and on both sides of the street there were fast food places and gas stations and shops of all kinds.
I needed to turn around but the only way to do that was to turn left and sit there at the light waiting for the green arrow as cars and trucks went past me. My little Honda was low to the ground so anybody in a pickup truck or an SUV had the opportunity to look down into my car.
To this day, I have no idea if anyone noticed I was naked. I finally turned left into a congested shopping area, turned around and crept my way back to the street, going in the opposite direction this time and made it back home without further incident.
Oh crap, this vignette wasn’t particularly exciting, was it? That’s the trouble with real life. It is a very lovely personal memory and still quite thrilling to me because I recall how alive I felt at that moment, yet when I write it down I realize not much actually happened. Stick with me though — my next tale has a little more drama to it, and also sex on the grass in the rain (no, wait, that’s a spoiler; forget I said that).